I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

by Milly Johnson

  Them and us. That’s exactly what Butterly’s was like, thought Jack. The white collars were separated from the blue collars by a virtual barbed-wire fence. And only one side of it made the tea.

  Cowed by Bridge’s verbal slap-down, Jack took a tray of drinks through to the bar lounge without saying anything else, but he was wondering when he’d ever said hello to one of the cleaners. His mind was always so full of work, he couldn’t even remember lifting his head up and registering them. Why had that never struck him before?

  * * *

  Robin watched Charlie pick up a cheese sandwich, part the slices and add a large spoonful of pickled red cabbage to it before squashing it shut again. He opened his mouth to warn him about heartburn but stopped himself before the words came out. Sometimes he realised how much of a nag he was; and though Charlie understood he was merely caring for his welfare, he even bored himself sometimes being Mr Goody Two-Shoes.

  ‘My, this is a feast,’ announced Charlie, patting crumbs away from his mouth. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had sandwiches and soup sitting by a fireside being snowed in. I think I was a small boy in my grandmother’s house. That must be nearly seventy years ago.’

  It certainly was a feast. Washed down with many coffees and teas, huddled around the great fire, the food acquired a deliciousness equal to far more than its components.

  ‘Wonder what’s happening out there in the rest of the country,’ said Robin, nodding towards the window.

  ‘The radio works, I tried it earlier. Shall I see if I can bring up the news?’ suggested Bridge. She didn’t wait for an answer but went over to switch it back on. There was only static when she turned up the volume; the station she had left it tuned to had dissolved into the ether. She twiddled the knob round and round to not much avail, heard the traces of a few distant foreign stations, then – at last – the crystal-clear strains of a tune with bells at the end, followed by the northern tones of a man who seemed to be devoid of his top or bottom set of teeth, possibly both.

  ‘You’re listening to BBC Radio Brian. That’s Brian Bernard Cosgrove, not the British Broadcasting Corporation. Coming to you from the snowy Yorkshire moors. I hope you’re all safe and sound in your houses with the fire on. Like being in the war, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sure in the war the BBC announcers had their teeth in,’ said Charlie before Robin shushed him.

  ‘Welcome to my gentle world of yesteryear with me, chit-chat and good music,’ Radio Brian continued. ‘In a moment, we’re going to have the festive voices of the King’s Singers and “O Holy Night”, but first a weather update for this region, which stretches, I do believe, as far south as Bridlington, and we have had reports of a listener in Newcastle. “Stay where you are” is what the other BBC is saying. A snow plough in Whitby has got stuck and is blocking the road, which more than adequately sums up the hopeless situation we’re in. There will be no let-up tonight. So without further ado…’

  ‘Does that include where we are?’ asked Jack, talking over toothless Brian.

  ‘Yes, we’re most definitely in the middle of that area,’ replied Charlie. ‘I spent a lot of my childhood years in Whitby, before we moved down to London when my father died. That’s why it’s so odd that I’ve never heard of Figgy Hollow.’ His brow creased as the brain behind them sifted through years-worth of information in a bid to find a mention of it.

  ‘The King’s Singers?’ said Jack as the music drifted out of the radio speakers. ‘My dad used to have their records.’

  ‘I think they’ve been together about twenty-five years,’ said Radio Brian.

  ‘Wrong,’ Charlie countered. ‘They’ve passed their fiftieth anniversary. We know because we went to see them in Carnegie Hall. Superb venue, perfect acoustics.’

  He stopped talking then and they all listened to the hymn, the music sinking into them along with the heat from the fire. Bridge tried not to think that ‘O Holy Night’ was the song carol singers were performing outside the town hall when she walked out of it as a married woman on her wedding day. She hadn’t been able to bear listening to it for the past few years. It was so beautiful that it felt like a sharp pin in her breast, memories hung from the notes like decorations from Christmas-tree branches.

  As it drew to a close, Mary sighed. ‘How lovely was that?’

  ‘Yes it was, but I’m not sure I can listen to any more of Radio Brian babbling on. Okay to turn him off for now?’ asked Bridge, who sounded as piqued at Brian as if he had deliberately picked that hymn to annoy her. She hit the off switch with a ‘Thank you for the info, other BBC. We know where you are if we want a weather update.’

  Charlie yawned and set off a chain reaction. ‘I think I might have to go to bed soon,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely—’

  ‘Shh,’ said Mary, suddenly. ‘What’s that?’

  Everyone fell silent. There was nothing to hear. Jack was about to say as much when he heard something too. A noise outside, faint; it sounded like someone singing ‘Jingle Bells’. He walked over to the window and peered out, then he leapt to open the door.

  ‘There’s someone there,’ he said. In the distance, he could make out a lumbering shape covered in snow. He ran out towards what looked like a snowman carrying an overnight bag and Robin followed to help. The pair of them took the weight of the exhausted figure and half-carried him to the inn.

  ‘Quick, let’s get him to the fire,’ said Jack, his words blowing back at him in the wind.

  They bundled the shuddering man inside, pushed him into the chair nearest the fire. Jack stripped off his sodden suit jacket and pair of sheepskin mittens, Robin then draped one of the throws from over the armchairs around his shoulders. Bridge saw the shock of white-blond hair as Jack pulled off the man’s wet, white, furry hat, which had a cat’s face stitched on the front and wiry whiskers.

  ‘Hello, Bridge,’ said her husband, shivering out a smile. ‘Have I d-d-died and landed in hell?’

  Chapter 7

  ‘This is Luke,’ said Bridge, as Mary pushed a mug of hot reviving coffee into the new arrival’s hand. As he sipped at the liquid, he could feel the warmth spread to his grateful insides.

  ‘You know each other?’ said Charlie. ‘What a strange coincidence.’

  ‘We should do, we’ve been married for fourteen years,’ said Luke.

  Did he wink at Bridge or was she seeing things?

  ‘Fourteen very, very long years,’ she added to that.

  ‘I never thought I’d be so glad to see you, Bridge.’

  The ‘likewise’ came to her lips too readily; she stopped herself just in time from saying it.

  ‘Car couldn’t go any further, there was a landslide of snow so I p-p-parked up,’ stuttered Luke, trying unsuccessfully to stop his teeth from chattering. ‘I waited, hoping for someone to pass, then, when no one did and the car was getting buried, I decided I should try to walk the rest of the way. Thank g-goodness I saw the sign for this place on the main road or I might have given up and become an ice mummy.’

  ‘You could have died, you idiot,’ said Bridge.

  ‘You know me, Bridge, l-luck of the devil,’ Luke said and grinned at her. ‘My trusty Timberlands, and the hat and mittens I found in the glove box, excuse the pun, all saved me from the jaws of frostbite. Well, my extremities, anyway.’

  That stupid grin, thought Bridge. He’d be grinning if a Yeti had appeared and started ripping him limb from limb. All that would be left of him was a pile of bloody body parts and his lips curved into that perma-grin like a really annoying Cheshire Cat. The lips you once believed you would never tire of kissing, came a rogue thought that she batted away.

  ‘Thank goodness I found you,’ said Luke, settling into the delightful process of defrosting. ‘I was giving up the ghost when I saw the lights from a distance, but they didn’t seem to be getting any closer and I wondered if it was a mirage.’

  ‘I thought it was the abominable snowman out there for a minute,’ said Robin.

 
‘Definitely abominable,’ said Bridge, deliberately not under her breath.

  ‘Get the man a scotch,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to that,’ Luke answered.

  Mary bobbed behind the bar, returned with a large whisky in a glass. ‘I shan’t ask you if you want ice,’ she said with a little chuckle.

  ‘Alcohol has no restorative powers whatsoever, you know,’ said Bridge as Luke took a gulp, felt the fire trail down his throat.

  ‘My internal organs would be inclined to disagree with that,’ said Luke.

  ‘The place wasn’t open; we were very lucky that your wife broke in, otherwise goodness knows where we would all have ended up,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Did she now?’ said Luke with relish. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  Bridge’s hand twitched. She would love to wipe that smile off his face.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ asked Mary.

  ‘Absolutely ravenous,’ said Luke. ‘I was hoping to have a lovely romantic dinner for two tonight.’

  He was being inflammatory by design, thought Bridge, who was determined not to let him show that he was needling her. He had always been able to get under her skin, he was an expert at it.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Robin. ‘But at least you’re together now.’

  ‘Together again,’ Luke tilted his head and sighed as if he’d just watched the ending of Bambi.

  ‘He’s jesting, of course,’ said Bridge, deciding that enough was enough. ‘We were meeting up to sign our divorce papers.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Robin, hoping he hadn’t said anything to put his foot in it.

  ‘I’m not,’ answered both Bridge and Luke together.

  ‘It’s very… mature that you can go your separate ways amicably,’ said Robin, trusting he was saying the right thing now.

  ‘Mature, ha,’ Bridge said with an added tut of sarcasm.

  ‘Amicably.’ Luke echoed the word as he squeezed the top of his nose, a small laugh escaping from between his lips.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Bridge added breezily, not wanting any of the others to feel discomfited. ‘Just dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s. It’s all very dignified.’

  ‘So dignified that we’re both up for a Nobel peace prize,’ said Luke with the sort of smile that Rock Hudson used to give Doris Day when he was being playful.

  Bridge knew that he knew she had a short fuse so she would not give him the satisfaction of his match reaching the full pack of her dynamite.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Mary, passing Luke a plate of some of the remaining sandwiches and a mug of soup. The look on his face as he tucked into the first was that of Henry VIII tucking into a roasted stag’s leg.

  ‘Oh my, that cheese is good. It’s very good in fact,’ he said, through a full mouth of food. ‘I haven’t eaten since last night.’

  ‘How stupid,’ said Bridge, who wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to say so.

  ‘Did you see any more cars on the road?’ asked Jack.

  ‘None. Apart from one – abandoned. It was mad out there. The satnav was no help, leading me one way and then changing its mind.’

  ‘Same happened to me,’ said Bridge.

  ‘And us,’ said Mary.

  Did it? thought Jack. He’d been oblivious to that, trusted implicitly in Mary to get them where they should be and never thought she’d encountered any difficulty. Fred, his usual chauffeur, would flap at the merest hint of a problem of course.

  Jack held out his hand to introduce himself to Luke. ‘Jack Butterly. And this is Mary, my PA.’

  Why not just Mary? thought Bridge. Why do you have to introduce her as the hired hand? Posh twat. She elevated him from twit.

  ‘Hello, Jack. And Mary,’ said Luke, with a wave at her.

  ‘I’m Charlie and this delightful young gentleman is Robin.’ Charlie inclined his head by way of greeting while Robin gave Luke his best jazz hands. ‘We were en route to Scotland for a snowy mountain Christmas.’

  ‘I heard on the news before it cut out that Scotland was strangely devoid of snow,’ said Luke.

  ‘Yes, just our luck,’ said Charlie. ‘Good job we found this place. I’ll have nightmares thinking about what would have happened if we hadn’t.’

  ‘What are we doing about paying for everything then?’ asked Mary. ‘I have a notepad and a pen in my bag… should we write down what we’ve eaten and drunk and then settle up with the landlord when we can get hold of him?’

  ‘That seems the best solution,’ said Bridge. ‘I don’t think he’ll blame us for making a small dent in his supplies. And if he does, tough. He’s not getting them back.’

  Robin stoked up the fire for Luke. The newcomer was very pale and Robin wasn’t sure if that was his natural skin colour or all the blood had rushed away from the surface to keep snug and warm in his nucleus.

  ‘This is bliss,’ said Luke, through another mouthful of sandwich. He didn’t add that it would have been even better were his fiancée there and not his wife. So far this was the longest time in the past five years that he and Bridge had been in the same room together without trying to kill each other.

  ‘Happy to help,’ said Robin. ‘I hope you remember where you left your car for the morning.’

  ‘Don’t think this weather will have gone by then,’ replied Luke. ‘And yes, it’s safe enough, I’m sure. I hope.’

  ‘What are you driving these days?’ asked Bridge.

  ‘A boy toy,’ said Luke with another grin.

  Bridge tutted. ‘Don’t tell me…’ she started to da da-da-daaa the James Bond music and when Luke clicked his tongue and stuck up his thumb, Bridge shook her head resignedly. ‘Quelle surprise.’

  He wouldn’t have bought any old Aston Martin, she thought, he’d have picked the one he used to dream of owning, the vintage one. In which case, he was doing really well. Maybe she should have carried on fighting for a chunk of his fortune.

  ‘So… sleeping arrangements?’ enquired Robin, noticing that Charlie looked tired. ‘I think we’ll have an early night, we were up at the crack of dawn this morning. My, that seems like another lifetime ago.’

  ‘There are three bedrooms, two twins and a double. There are plenty of sheets and duvets and towels et cetera in the room opposite the last bedroom,’ said Bridge. ‘It would make sense if you two had the double, Mary and I shared and Jack shared the other twin with… Luke.’ A pause before his name, as if her mouth didn’t want to say it.

  ‘That does seem the only option,’ said Jack.

  Inside Mary a little sigh rose and sank.

  ‘I think we will say our goodnights now,’ said Robin, hovering over Charlie to help, as he levered himself to his feet. ‘Sleep well, everyone.’

  Their words were reciprocated.‘Yes, sleep well.’

  ‘I’ll come up with you and show you where the bedding is,’ said Bridge. ‘There’s an ensuite in each room, so fingers crossed there’s some hot water.’

  The double room was the largest of them, snug and quaint with fussy, floral curtains hanging at two picture windows, which afforded views of snow as far as the eye could see. And it was still falling hard.

  ‘Deep joy, my lovelies, we have hot water,’ proclaimed Charlie from the bathroom as Bridge helped Robin fit a bottom sheet and pillowcases, dress a duvet with a starched white cover. There were plenty of towels; the fluff factor was lacking but they were soft enough, and smelled newly washed. Bridge also found a quantity of folded white towelling robes, all in monster-large size.

  ‘I shall look like the bastard child of a snowman and Noel Coward in this,’ chuckled Charlie. ‘Thank you for all your help, dear girl.’

  ‘Let’s think positive: we’ll wake up tomorrow to green fields and clear roads and then we’ll be happily on our way,’ said Robin to Bridge at the door, both hands raised with crossed fingers.

  ‘Of course we will,’ she agreed.

  * * *

  Downstairs in the bar, Mary was
collecting the plates and glasses to take through to Jack who had volunteered to wash up. Luke was sitting by the fire, thinking that it would be so easy to nod off in this large wing armchair. At one point, when he had face-planted into some snow outside, he really had wondered if he would ever make it to the inn; it was no exaggeration. But the thought of obtaining Bridge’s signature on the divorce agreement spurred him on so much, he could probably have reached the Arctic Circle if necessary. The prospect of seeing Bridge in person again drove him on too, because he was intrigued by what he’d find. She looked thinner than he remembered; her cheekbones were more pronounced because of it and she’d had her inferno of wild hair cut to just below her shoulders. It suited her, made her appear older and more sensible. She looked like an adult, in other words, less like the girl he’d known. He wasn’t prepared for the sensation in his chest that his heart was smiling to find her safe and sound.

  ‘So, were you worried about me, Bridge?’ he asked her, as she came down the stairs and over to sit with him, but not too near.

  ‘I did hope you were alive, I’m not a monster,’ she said, waiting for him to roar with laughter. Sarcasm had long since been a fuel that kept their relationship burning. But he surprised her.

  ‘I’m glad you found this bolthole, Bridge. I did try to reply to your text but it kept saying the message couldn’t be delivered.’

  ‘I didn’t expect a reply anyway, I was just letting you know the change of plan. I did wonder if you’d got it, but there was no way I could find out, because I couldn’t get through to you to check. I have no idea what’s going on with all the technology. You’d think it would be weatherproof nowadays.’

  ‘This is madness, isn’t it? It would have been far more sensible for us to do this another time.’

  ‘It would. But I’m sure you agree, we both want this over and done with. It’s dragged on for far too long.’